


Cards on the Table

by CornerSwords



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, RWBY
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, let's just see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CornerSwords/pseuds/CornerSwords
Summary: The opportunity for a single thing to make a difference to the entire world doesn't really come up often. People like to make a big deal of it when it does, write stories, you know how it goes, but itreallydoesn't. One thing can only influence so much, no matter how well-aimed.But, well, the thing is... you don't have to stick toonething. Or oneperson.The world's a big place, but you know that saying - many hands make light work. Bring enough cards together and hey, you're bound to get a royal flush eventually. Sure, that's not really how poker works, but, well......you really think a bunch of no-good thieves are gonna care about the rules?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Rule One: Regarding Fluency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing you have to know is how to speak the language. They all talk about walking the walk, but isn't that proof enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing with this one except 'writing'.
> 
> However, I'm pretty sure that's enough of a reason.

_Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one sided and easily processed._

_Yet every misshapen spark's unseen beauty is greater than its would be judgement._

* * *

The night wouldn't have been a bright one, alone. It was exceedingly rare for the moon to hide its face, but its fragments only caught so much light when they were brought to the fore. But cities never sleep, and are content to make their own light.

Not unusual in the least.

The drone of a shamelessly loud engine cut short, giving way to a rising beat rendered in electronica not nearly as eager to let black-feathered wings or sturdy brown boots take center stage. An imposition, maybe, but a welcome one and so one unchallenged.

Imposition - that was a good word, actually. It really did capture the way gold flared first in the flickering spotlight, radiant almost of its own accord - the way eyes turned to her, then down as she surveyed her kingdom. A young woman in brown and yellow, the barest hint of a cocky smile on her face, who took in a room painted in black and white in a single casual sweep and began down the stairs with all the air of owning the joint.

It was the first tip - molten fire gleaming bright with each pulse of the music, careless confidence untouched as the room dipped into ruby red - that put men in iconic black on her tail, sliding out of the anonymous crowds with easy precision. White and red surged over each other as the masses parted in perfect time, a path carved out by sheer presence; more and more black-hats showed themselves from the crowd as her path paralleled three others, letting the fourth turn at a calm trot for the exit, opting to get while the getting was good.

Black, white, and red sat in a little line at the bar, and the first misstep of the dance that yellow had begun - a fourth seat filled up just a little too quickly. Two cocked eyebrows, one for each of the leads. The backup dancers didn't react a moment longer, but the sudden off-beat drew their attention just as surely in the end.

"Dealer's choice, thanks. No ice." the interloper murmured, voice carrying easily through wordless lyrics as they began to fracture. A pause, just momentary, as the leads reassessed.

"Aren't you a little young to be in this club, four-eyes?"

(Test the waters, and-)

"Aren't you a little _old_ to have a name like Junior?"

Imposition was an _excellent_ word for her, in fact. Still off the beat, Hei 'Junior' Xiong couldn't help the twitch in his eye as the blonde slid seamlessly back into rhythm - and the next seat over.

"I suppose he ought to speak first, then." the boy in the black coat mused tonelessly, glasses flashing opaque as the club's lights caught them from the filled shelves behind the bar. "If we're being polite."

"I've already spoken to your boss, kid." Junior fired back, because Torchwick was polite enough to make him want to knock out some teeth. "I seriously doubt you've got any other business here."

"Strawberry Sunrise, no ice." as a glass full of swirling blues and reds slid into place in front of the frizzy-haired kid. The barkeep paused, knowing the flow well enough - "Oh, and one of those little umbrellas."

"You know, it's rude to ignore someone when they're talking to you." The usual disinterest didn't quite land - the Malachite sisters still hadn't caught the new rhythm. Little bit slower, a little bit _jazzier_ maybe... Junior let it wash in for a moment, flashing the usual signal to the barkeep.

The distinct _clink_ of glass on wood, and the down-beat of the strobe exposed grey eyes lit with a dangerous kind of amusement. "Age before beauty." the kid replied smoothly, the barest hint of a smile flickering over a jaw soft with youth. "Figured I'd let it play out."

Four glasses hit the bar in clean succession, matching to the subtle shift of the rhythm as the track changed. The DJ had finally picked up on it, then - Junior didn't recognize the music, but the clean beat was a much better choice to lower the tension.

"Not everyone's got time to burn, y'know." the girl with the orange scarf advised, that same cocky near-grin on her face as she swirled her artful little cocktail into a colorful mess. "Or's willing to, anyways..."

"A little bit of arson is good for the soul." the interloper shrugged, before leaning back from the bar. "Something I'm sure you understand just fine, Miss Xiao-Long."

Interest flashed in the blonde's violet eyes as Junior took note of the name and a drag of his drink - he had a terrible sort of feeling he was going to be hearing it a _lot_ in the near future. Those same eyes met his own for a moment before Xiao-Long turned her attention back to her own glass, leaving him almost indignant.

But you didn't stay a successful information broker by passing up free shots, even if you shouldn't need to be given them in your own damn home. "Should I even _be_ insulted?" he grumbled, letting the sweet burn of imported whiskey soothe his ego; "It's hard to feel threatened by someone barely out of preschool."

The twins giggled obligingly, though the usual viciousness was lacking. Not because they were still off-balance either, no - that would be _good_ for his blood pressure. They were just too _interested_ to back him up properly.

Honestly, all he asked for was a little respect.

"Different circles, different names." the kid offered, leaning forwards onto the counter as messy hair fell over his eyes. "Nothing to worry about, really. Transferring in isn't that important."

Out-of-towner, someone with Torchwick's group or the new batch of Beacon hopefuls - considering Torchwick had just left, that meant Huntress-in-training. _Very_ unpleasant confirmation, since messing with her meant bringing that old coot in the tower down on his head now, even if he got his ass kicked in the process.

Damn. He really _was_ cornered here. And now he owed the kid for giving him a heads-up.

"Bah, whatever. What's your problem then?" he grouched, slumping a bit in his seat. "Candle Man forget something?"

"Not my department. I just heard about the smoothies here from a mutual colleague," and Blondie Xiao-Long paused mid-drink at that - not quite as clean a whistle as they liked up at the lighthouse, huh? Something to keep in mind, "and figured we'd both benefit from a meeting."

... _damn._ There was a hell of a lot in that that Junior _really_ didn't want to unpack.

"Smoothies, huh?" Blondie cut in. At least she was straightforward about things - about five seconds from wrecking the joint, depending on answers given. Easier read than the menu his barkeep slid to the kid, and he _wrote_ that code - "What flavors are we talking, exactly?"

"Cool your jets, sweetheart. Best we got off rotation is on the flip side of the menu." Junior told her, signaling the barkeep again. "Most regulars order from the limited list."

The set of the blonde's shoulders loosened slightly, though it took a mutter of "There's a strict policy against nightshade." from the kid to put the carelessness back in her smirk. Junior didn't know why, exactly; Melanie and Miltia were sitting _right next to him_ and they'd murder him without hesitation if he allowed that sort of shit to go on in his club.

Seriously, did people just assume that criminals would do _anything_ these days?

Not his department - speaking of which, he _did_ have to deal with what the kid was telling him at some point. No matter how much he'd rather hide and let it sort itself out. Independent action was such a goddamn pain...

"So what is this, then? You looking for a job, kid? I don't hire strays."

Two black triangles perked up from the mass of curls atop the kid's head, and Junior took a moment to rattle off every curse word he knew. Inside his head, obviously - Miltia's quiet _huh_ was all that needed to be said aloud.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm a _stray_ exactly..." the kid mused aloud, so obviously unbothered by the whole thing that it _had_ to be an act. "Ah, that's right. I forgot to introduce myself."

A bitter sort of confidence underlaid the mellow smile that the cat faunus wore - experience, then. That explained a lot, at least. "I suppose you'll know me mainly as Joker. Pleasure to meet you."

"Took you long enough, kid." Junior groused, some of the sudden tension in the air unwinding as the flint-grey of the faunus' eyes softened. "Hei Xiong. Blondie," over the kid's shoulder - she started, clearly surprised. This was why he hated dealing with kids - honestly he had _no_ idea how much of that she had picked up on - "you got a first name?"

"Uh, yeah. Obviously." she immediately shot back - good, wasn't the type to let an uncomfortable situation trip her up. "Yang. What about double trouble over there?"

"Miltia." "Melanie." they replied in bored unison, before knocking back their drinks. At least they were content on the sidelines for this one, then. Junior shook his head, drawing the visitors' attention back to him, clearing his mounting headache a little, and signaling the barkeep to keep back from asking for their orders just a moment longer.

You had to be able to multitask to survive in his business.

"Alright, I haven't had anything to eat in hours and I'm not going to discuss business over dinner with kindergarteners." he declared, drawing a languid chuckle from Joker and a challenging grin from Xiao-Long - they were _both_ going to be trouble, wonderful. Truly the youth of today brightened every tomorrow and all that bullshit. "Blondie, what do you want."

"Not much." she replied cheerily, pulling her scroll from inside her brown jacket. The little rectangle of glass and plastic lit up immediately, displaying a small image in black and white of... wonderful, a woman facing away from the camera. Just great. Like identifying her wasn't tough enough already. "Just everything you know about this person."

"Probably some kind of Huntress from another continent, if _this_ is the best you could dig up." Junior replied offhandedly. "Other than that, I got nothing. Whoever she is, she isn't local."

"Very not local. If that's who I think she is, she's based in the wildlands of Anima." Joker cut in, and Junior groaned aloud, putting his head down on the counter.

"Seriously, kid. You don't cut in on a man's business in his own damn home."

"I just figured she had a right to know." he replied innocently, albeit with a bit more of an undertone this time - _resentment?_ Oh, that couldn't spell anything good. It'd be just his luck for this kid to suddenly about-face and start a fight out of nowhere. "Seeing as she's her daughter and all."

"Y'know, the all-seeing eye routine is charmingly quirky and all, but you keep letting personal details slip and eventually you come off a little creepy." Blondie finally piped up, dangerous tones sidling into her voice as well. "Why, exactly, do _you_ know that?"

"You dig up a couple things when people keep mistaking you for the spawn of an infamous rogue Huntress." the kid shot back, tone flat. Blondie blinked, clearly caught off guard, and he continued, gaze losing focus somewhere above the scotch shelf as the club's lights began to pulse blue in time with the shifting music. "Raven Branwen, leader of the Branwen Tribe - a nomadic tribe that calls Anima their home - and former member of Beacon Hunter Team Strike, that's S-T-R-Q. One known child with teammate Taiyang Xiao-Long, that's you. _Lots_ of enemies. And, unfortunately, I've been told I resemble her fairly closely."

His ears flicked in the air.

"Aside from being, you know."

"A guy?" Yang replied, voice just slightly distant, clearly absorbing the information that had just been given to her. Whatever - anything that eased the tension in the air was a lucky break for Junior, because it meant less of a chance that a fight would break out.

Then Joker's eyes locked onto a particular bottle on the shelf.

"Yeah, more or less. Raven Branwen is nothing but trouble, trust me - and lots of it."

Miltia immediately slid off her seat, slinking into the crowd with the ease of long, long habit. Melanie took a bit longer, stretching her arms into the air with a loud yawn before cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at the two kids who had invaded his sanctum; "Well, good luck with all your family talk or whatever. I'm going to go find something more interesting to do."

Sometimes he remembered why he kept those two on the payroll. Sometimes they reminded him, and he resolved to rush that order of the brandy they liked. Blondie obviously didn't pick up on the subtext, too occupied with absorbing the information on her apparently deadbeat mom, but Junior was willing to risk a small nod to Joker for the heads up, and was pleased to have it returned.

Yeah, he could work with this kid.

"Well, sounds like I got that from her at least." Blondie concluded, a weak attempt at her earlier confident mien painting itself over her face. "Trouble's my middle name."

 _"Trouble's_ not exactly welcome in my club, brats." Junior piped up, finally feeling at ease enough to signal the barkeep back towards them. "You gonna cause any?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Joker replied, smooth as glass and twice as transparent, as Yang's grin shot up to Maximum Cockiness, before something a little more honest entered his expression. "Not over food, at least. What's the biggest burger on this menu?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Blondie agreed, spinning the little umbrella around in her empty glass. "Make that two burgers and refills, thanks!"

"Three." Junior tacked on. "And make it quick - I missed lunch."

The barkeep nodded quietly, red shades flashing in the blue strobe, and headed off as the music picked up again. Joker pulled his glasses off, producing a rag from somewhere inside his coat - the same red of Junior's tie, actually. Annoying, if he'd chosen black and red as his 'signature', but it was such a simple style Junior couldn't exactly lay claim to it.

"By the way, Yang. Those bracers you're wearing... those are shot-gauntlets, aren't they?" the kid asked, evidently content to continue distracting the other brat for the time being. Weapons were a pretty safe topic among Hunters and Huntresses, but hell, Junior was interested too - kind of his job, and all.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Ember Celica's my pride and joy." she replied easily, flicking her wrist in just the right way to activate one of the damn things. The bright yellow bracer immediately transformed, opening and expanding into a forearm gauntlet with a barrel held just far enough above the arm not to scorch it with Dust rounds - pretty standard stuff, but Blondie's comfort with it and its easy transition was somewhat unusual. "Made 'em myself!" Well, that explained it.

"Did you know that - well, the first functional mechashift prototype was a rifle-spear, actually, but the first factory model was an early version of the shot-gauntlet?" Joker asked, putting his glasses back on with a slight grin. "Nothing like the one you have now, naturally, it was more like an entire armored sleeve with a retractable glove."

"I did actually know that spear thing, yeah." she replied, giving first her weapon and then the kid a considering look. "Not the gauntlet thing. Are you sure about that?"

"He's right, Blondie." Junior put in, a little _more_ interested despite himself. "That's practically ancient history, though. Mechashift tech's existed for ages - why does a kid like you know that?"

"Weapons are important. You can tell a lot about a person by the nature of their weapon." Joker replied, almost defensive. "Studying up on them is just good sense."

Yang giggled, shifting her weapon back into the passive bracer state with an easy flick. "You sound like my little sister." she teased. "You sure you're not part of the family somehow?"

Joker blinked. "I-"

"Yaaaang! What are you _doing_ here?!"

Junior, personally, believed you could learn a lot about a person by how they responded to surprises. He, personally, was the kind of guy who _really_ didn't appreciate things coming out of left field; that was why one hand went for the holdout pistol he kept on him when he wasn't carrying his actual weapon of choice around, even if he didn't actually pull it out as he jumped out of his seat.

Blondie, on the other hand, was the kind of person who usually _did_ the surprising. He could tell by the way she froze up for a moment before responding, clearly shocked - and with good reason, she and the kid looked just about old enough to sneak into bars but whoever this new girl was, she looked about halfway out of daycare, even with the big lump of metal hanging behind her waist.

And Joker...

"Ruby! Why - what are _you_ doing here?!"

"I asked first!"

"You're not even supposed to be in here! This place serves _alcohol!"_

"Well then _you're_ not supposed to be in here either!"

...Joker had disappeared entirely between one breath and the next, and Junior wasn't even sure why he was surprised. The kid was apparently as jumpy as he was irreverent, though it irked him that someone could so easily vanish inside his own home.

Probably a Semblance, all told, but it was still irritating.

"Hey! I'm seventeen, and I ordered a non-alcoholic drink!"

"Well I haven't ordered _any_ drink, so I still win!"

_"That's not how anything works!"_

Well, at least the twins were having fun. He could see them coaxing a clearly confused Huntress into a corner booth way over on the other side of the crowd - looked like she hadn't been quick enough to guard her hair from Miltia, judging by the difference between the wild mane from the photograph and the unnaturally neat braided ponytail she was now wearing.

Those two _scared_ him sometimes. Hopefully that whole situation wouldn't go down in flames, but he wasn't about to put money on that.

"Well even if it isn't, you still shouldn't be here! What would Dad say?!"

 _"Nothing,_ because he will _never_ know!"

"He'd ground us both _forever!"_

_"But he won't, because-!"_

"Blondie!" Junior barked. The increasing glow around Yang - a Semblance at work, probably something explosive knowing his luck - cut off as he shoved a bag into her arms, leaving her blinking blankly at it. He made a mental note to give his barkeep a raise.

"There's your food. Get out and take your sister with you."

"Uh. Thanks?" she asked, and Hei Xiong's eyes narrowed.

"You can thank me by getting the hell out of my club. Drama makes a bad impression on my customers." he told her. "I've got a business to run here."

"Thank you mister vest person, _Yang come on!"_ the new brat in red exclaimed, both arms wrapped around her sister's as she tried to pull her away. "Let's _go!"_

The beat dropped out, and a momentary absence of music gave Yang's helpless chuckle all the space it needed. Then the keyboard line kicked in and she grinned up at the information broker who ran the joint, violet eyes mirthful.

"Thanks, Junior. I'll settle my tab later, then?" she joked, even as she allowed herself to be pulled towards the door by her little sister.

"Consider it even if you _stay out!"_ he shouted after her. The crowd parted again to allow the sisters their exit without further complication; Junior watched long enough for them to make it to the steps, then turned away, sitting back down at the bar.

"This batch of brats is an interesting one, huh boss?" the barkeep asked quietly, just loud enough to be heard through the music.

"I give it a month before the entire city is burning rubble." Junior replied.

An entire bottle of the good stuff hit the counter next to his burger in place of the barkeep's agreement, and Junior made a mental note to give the man a bigger raise.

Then he started in on his dinner, because he was _god damned hungry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I know very little about anything and am writing this more or less totally by instinct.
> 
> And caffeine. Lots of caffeine.
> 
> Yay?


	2. Rule Two: Regarding Entrances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are only two entrances that matter; the unnoticed, and the unforgettable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is immediately after the first chapter; consider them two parts of a prologue before we get into the actual meat of things.

The city of Vale was largely built around two major considerations. The first, and most obvious of them, was the water - it was no coincidence that the river ran more or less right down the center of the city before it forked, and that the river's furthest bounds ran only just past the easternmost part of the city before Beacon. The water provided a natural barrier for landbound Grimm, an inbuilt barricade to aid in repelling their attacks; further, while it was certainly deep enough to host marine monsters, it was also too thin for them to maneuver through. Fish in a barrel, as the saying went.

The other major consideration was the mountains.

Forever Fall to the north, Beacon to the east, and Mountain Glenn to the south - Vale was an appropriate, if unimaginative, name for the place. The flatter lands of the city were ringed in by mountain ranges and the ocean, forming a crude sort of bottleneck for the creatures of Grimm. Even drawn to humanity as they were, the most common species of Grimm had to contend with steep slopes and sharp drops on their way to assault the city, and those capable of flight were generally fairly easy to spot cresting the final summits to the north or south... or found themselves quickly disposed of, coming from the east.

Vale wasn't _perfect,_ but such a large patch of land, with plenty of viable farming-land and useful natural barriers, was certainly an exceedingly lucky find. Most of the specifics of its layout stemmed from the Port and Beacon as its key-points, after that - the residential district nowadays sat between the forking lines of the river, having migrated closer to Beacon over time as the walls were built and upgraded, while the commercial district had been stretched out to link both of the city's major features north of the river. The industrial and agricultural districts divvied up the land south of the river between themselves, and that only left the upper-class district, nestled away against the water up at the very north end of the city.

An interesting quirk of Vale's geography was that there were very few places that were actually physically higher than anywhere else in the city, by nature; in fact, the far north section of the upper-class district and the approach to Beacon were the only places that began to slope upwards to any significant degree. This was actually another one of the biggest reasons why Vale had been settled in the first place, as the flat, rich land was excellent for local crops. Because of this flatness, minor differences of height between one building and the next were extremely apparent, especially where one sub-district let into the next; Vale's nature as a port city meant that large sections of it had been built or modified over time with waves of traffic from all over the world in mind, and while the simple, mute-toned brickwork and prevalence of dark windows standard throughout the cities' streets kept the layman from noticing anything that didn't fit, a keen-eyed architect would spot endless differences between the buildings on any given street in a heartbeat.

For example, the building on the south-east corner of Coquelicot and Hue in the industrial district had a rounded corner with large windows at every story, fairly common for older buildings in Vale. However, it also had a slight extension along the north side between the first and second floor, in order to better accommodate an extended awning it shared with the next building over - a slightly newer piece that had been expanded to fit with a reduced sidewalk, without thought to the mismatch. Further, the Juliet balcony set that had been built on after the fact to the first building's third story was railed in artistic wrought iron, as opposed to the simple stainless steel extensions of the second building's fire escape, not to mention the subtle shift in brickwork pattern between the two buildings, the meticulously carved basement-access staircase next to the second building's primary street entrance that was the only way into a basement-level restaurant that had been carved out after the first building's installation, or the figure cloaked in black and red springing off the second building's shingled roof in a blur of acrobatic motion, granted that last one was a much more temporary feature.

Superhuman feats of physical ability being relatively commonplace, the length of gleaming silver that vanished up his sleeve as he rebounded from the opposite roof into a long, low leap down the street between them was perhaps more of note. A quick spiral in midair and a well-timed flick of the wrist sent it shooting off ahead, taking the figure's angular momentum with it; as features blurred by speed resolved into the face of a young man adorned with glasses that had inexplicably failed to be launched off into the infinite abyss of the night-lit city streets, his grappling line found its mark, the sharp-tipped weight at the end driving into the side of an overpass just ahead. The hook caught and unfolded, extensions arcing out on three sides to secure against its wielder's weight as he swung through a pendulum arc underneath.

It was a dangerous tool, certainly, but one Joker was familiar with. The silver line of the grapple cut shimmering through the night air, and shivered with another careful flick of his wrist; a slight push from another mechanism inside the hook, and its own securing points popped the main barb out with ease, the line again retracting immediately. Approaching his target for the evening, the thief didn't bother waiting for the line to return properly; tucking into a tight roll, Joker again turned angular momentum into fuel for a line launched to the side from inside his other sleeve, catching the returning grapple just shy of the hook as he swung around the small steeple it had embedded itself in.

This church, a small one dedicated to a Mistralian variant of the Faith of the Brothers, had been selected as tonight's target purely to test his new acquisition; while Joker was well used to a single grapple, the one he had grown accustomed to was both an older version of these new ones' design and somewhat less flexible in its use. Breaking in the new grapples, getting used to the options a second one presented, and testing the physical limits of the devices - those were Joker's goals for the night, having already introduced himself to Junior.

Pulling hard on his embedded line, a firm hand controlling it as it tried to retract, Joker swept in and around - dead center over the roof of the church, he pulled the embedded hook loose and let the other fly. The second, identical steeple on the opposite end of the church proved no less pliable to his gear, and this was where the real trial began.

Ever so carefully, Joker fed his Aura to the line; the simple twitch controls he was used to, he forced out of his handling, and instead he pulled upwards from his core with as much strength as he dared. Physics tried to pull his line tight in protest, where it'd snag over the intricate black-iron dedicated to the Brother Dark, but his soul held weight where the air refused; instead of snapping taut, Joker's line spiraled out from the hook even as it pushed him up into the air over the second steeple.

Its freedom wasn't to last, but the shimmering line that unspooled from both its ends was beautiful while it did, catching the moon's light playfully as Joker's shadow danced over it. Then he reeled his soul back in and let the other hook fly once more, burying it solidly in the brickwork of the Brother Light's white-silver steeple.

Both lines snapped taut in the blink of an eye, and Joker's dark boot only tapped the church-roof softly instead of smashing through before he was pulled up between the two hooks. Excellent - it'd be quite rude of him to interrupt the service. Also, there'd likely be police summoned, and he wanted to test the hooks' hold properly.

The interesting thing about this chapel was that its brickwork was very, _very_ expensive. And while he'd have felt moderately bad for putting holes in art under most circumstances, Joker had done his homework; the _reason_ it was so expensive, so much _more_ expensive than even the highly technical labor needed to create its components should have been, was because the person who had established this particular church was part of a Mistralian smuggling ring. This church had been a quite impressive stroke of business acumen, in all honesty; buying goodwill from both the city and the locals while laundering a frankly _staggering_ amount of money. His next lead on _that_ particular ring was currently in Vacuo, but a couple of anonymous holes surely couldn't do any harm?

The other reason the brickwork was so expensive, after all, was because Dust was built into it. Gravity and Hardlight Dust, to be specific, molded into the brick and mortar to give it frankly unreal durability. That his hooks had penetrated so reliably was both pleasing and worrying - he'd have to be very careful about their combat use in the future - but this also meant that he could properly test how well they had anchored without worrying about pulling out a loose brick.

And so, Joker flexed his core muscles once again, and began to roll.

Roll out, mind. Leveraging his ability to control the slack of the lines, and straining his arms and Aura just as much as his core, Joker began to swing in an expanding circle between the two steeples, rolling out and out until his feet were nearly scraping the roof again with each pass.

Then he pulled both lines taut, signature red gloves barely dulling the feeling of the silver thread in his white-knuckle grip, and started going faster. And faster. And faster. And faster, and faster, and faster, and _faster,_ and _faster, and faster and faster **and faster-**_

It really was a good thing that Joker was so used to going fast and turning hard; the brickwork might have been paid for by crime, but it didn't deserve to be _desecrated._ The hooks held stubbornly no matter how fast Joker pushed himself, however, and so - satisfied with their anchoring capabilities - he let go of the lines.

The sudden slack meant nothing was pulling him back to earth but the feeble touch of gravity, and so Joker flew feet-first into the sky, turning quietly in the sky. Detaching the hooks before he ran out of line, the teen thief began to trace a gentle arc for the slack grapple-lines to follow, luxuriating in the soft moonlight; one of the few birds still out and about squawked as he passed it, flapping violently to steady itself from the near miss. Joker didn't let it bother him; the wind wasn't strong enough to pull his lines out and put the poor thing in danger, after all, and even the hooks wouldn't catch it unless-

A weight snagged in time with a much more panicked squawk, the subtle shake of his line telling Joker that one of the hooks had sprung its extensions. A quick visual check confirmed that yes, the bird had gotten snagged - thankfully by the blunt insides of the extensions rather than the sharp ends, but honestly that wasn't much comfort considering that the average human would break every bone in their body in a fall from that height.

One quick pull, and the bird was reeled in with the active hook - still panicking, but not too wildly for Joker to determine that he wasn't going to be able to just pull it free and set it loose. It was wedged in there properly, and one black wing looked more than a little squashed. He was going to have to make a landing. One safe for a fragile animal.

Wonderful.

Pulling it close to his chest and praying that it wouldn't get through his vest, Joker rolled back into a half-twist. The extra weight dragged his flight arc down a bit, and he peaked trying to simultaneously monitor a fairly large, struggling bird and his options for turning his downward momentum into forward without turning said bird into a cloud of feathers and memories. Grey eyes glinted, taking in the city below, and he allowed himself a bit of a smirk for spotting his next target - a towering seven-story he'd be dropping just a bit away from, and a two-layer bridge that - Joker was _mostly_ sure he could make that jump if he timed it right-

"This isn't going to be pleasant for either of us, but I'll do my best. You may want to hold on to something." Joker informed the bird, because it would be frankly rude of him not to, and then his free hook sliced through the air at his behest, and again they were in motion, arcing with easy grace across the anchor's range. Joker rolled back as his body shot forwards, freed of the anchor's grip at just the right instant to send him dead center down the street, and murmured a quiet apology to the frankly apoplectic bird as momentum again turned into fuel for the hook to practically bounce off his hand, digging into the under-arch of the bridge.

This was the tricky bit. It felt a bit like someone had missed quite horribly with a red-hot garrote wire, in all honesty; even feeding his Aura to the line only took so much of the weight off, and he _was_ essentially pushing himself and a bird that he suspected might be on the verge of a heart attack up several dozen meters with only one hand. The line of riotous protest drawn from palm to abdomen wasn't harsh enough to stop him, though, and it subsided as he crested one last arc.

Joker's shadow flitted over the people below - a bridge-restaurant of sorts, it seemed, outdoor seating in the moon's view. Romantic, if likely an absolute _bitch_ to keep clean. A moment as they attempted to place its source, before the shouting began - "Who's _that?!"_ "Is he some kinda Huntsman?" _"You're not gonna make it!"_ "Do a flip!" - and actually he _was_ going to make it, because his hook caught up to his free hand and his arc would only fall a meter or two short of the bridge's edge.

Half-twist and let loose, hook and soul alike, and a silver bullet raced for the moon before he seized its leash once more. It arced back on a line kept loose of the bridge's grip by sheer will alone, trying to pull its master from the wall he had dug his heels into, but Joker proved stubborn even as he skidded down the side of the bridge's second story, bleeding speed in the form of thin gouges on its side. The hook slammed back into his hand as his feet fell free of the bottom edge, and he drove it into the last grip it could reach by that same hand.

The line spooled out, slower and slower. Still, it was irritating on a professional level that he had to bend with the impact on the first level of the bridge - that he made any sound at all on landing was a failure. Reeling in his anchored grapple, careful not to let gravity pull it out of his control, Joker stashed the device up his sleeve and turned his attention to the bird caught in his other hook, still squawking up a storm with surprising gusto. At least he hadn't knocked the wind out of the poor thing, then.

"Come on, let's get you loose..."

It was only a half-minute or so's work to pry bird from hook without harming either, now that he had both hands free and ground - stone, at least - beneath his feet. The bird in question _did_ manage to tear up his coat a bit and put a nasty nick on his face, but the flailing and screeching gave way to a quieter, wary glare as he set it down and skipped out of arm's reach.

"Well, you seem in fine form." the grey-eyed teen chuckled, producing a red handkerchief to clean his stinging cheek. "The wheel of fortune is rarely so light with its torments, friend. I'm glad for you."

A hoarse _caw_ was his answer. Joker spun the hook that had caught the poor black bird slowly, catching it after a moment; didn't seem to be triggering by itself again, odd. He'd take a closer look at it later; for then, the grapple vanished up his other sleeve, and he turned his attention to the thin stone banisters.

"Fortune... fickle, that one. They say she favors the bold, but I'd be more willing to bet she just loathes the predictable. Too bad her sense of humor is such a dark one, eh?"

The city loomed out before him in the shattered moon's light. It was a dangerous place, he knew - "Can you smell that, in the air?" he asked, on a whim. "Ashes and Dust, gold and blood... Fortune has grown bored, I fear. Her plots grow ever-deeper with each new actor on her stage..."

A short chuckle. "Forgive me, I'm not usually so... _poetic._ What use has a bird for theater?"

The city of Vale stretched before him, and Joker's eyes took it in - opportunity and heartbreak etched into the very brickwork, ancient laws and new orders and a people who cowered from their own demons, or took up their very souls to fight them.

Poetry wasn't usually his style, true, but that was because action suited him far better than words.

"The wheel of fortune spins again. I think I'll put a few bullets in it." Akira Kurusu declared, a wild smirk on his face. "See you around, crow."

Then he vaulted the banister and flung himself into the night, leaving only the faintest echo of laughter on the wind and a bird having a heart attack in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling artsy.
> 
> Also, did we ever get a proper look at the grappling hook from Royal? I can't seem to find anything that shows what it actually looks like or how it works. Except 'awesome', so I just kind of rolled with that.


	3. Gathering Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta do a little digging to make your mark.

Beacon Academy's year was just on the verge of a new beginning. Ironically, this was actually the informal start of the quietest period of Vale's calendar; with all local Huntsmen and the majority of those in-training occupied with the school or the walls, the most chaotic law-abiding citizens were all far too busy to start a ruckus, or to attend any events that might be proposed. In many ways, this was the vacation month of Vale.

Hell, even the most determined print-hounds at VNN couldn't come up with anything more interesting than another rerun of the Pyrrha Nikos At Beacon story. Nothing they'd put on the front page, anyways; that the movie version of Ninjas of Love was finally going forwards (for real this time) was probably big news to someone, at least. Even the recent surge of criminal activity was in a bit of a lull.

Which was something of an opportunity, at least. Far easier to break into the scene when no one else was making one.

 **RT:** So, new kid. You think you can pull that off?

Intentionally or un. Akira let a grin play across his face as he ambled down the street, making no real effort to separate himself from the natural flow of movement through city's streets as he tapped out his half of the conversation on his fancy new legitimately acquired Scroll.

 **J:** About three days, if everything goes smoothly. Five at the most.

It was a skill he felt many people in his line of work didn't appreciate, really. Being able to stay calm in a moving crowd - and the moving part was _important._ You didn't have conversations by text on a _train,_ you didn't pick up dead-drops or make handoffs and then just _stand there._ You kept moving, and the very nature of the crowd kept anyone from thinking you important enough to remember.

 **RT:** Oh? I thought you guaranteed a two-day delivery for trial runs?

As long as you didn't draw attention to yourself. And that was why you had to stay calm, not smile too much, or too wide, or too many teeth; just hide behind your glasses and let the gleam of your eyes look like the barest trick of the light.

 **J:** Depending on location, yes. But since I'm nice, I'm going to let you keep the trial price.

It was a learned skill, of course, looking like nothing more than another face in the crowd. Not the easiest, and Akira couldn't claim to be a master of it; harsh lessons could only teach so quickly. But he got by.

 **RT:** Call it what it is, kid, because I'm not owing you any favors.

The building was impressive, in an understated kind of way. The outer wall was the main culprit, keeping passers-by looking at the sidewalk or the road even when they passed by the main entrance, not imposing or impassable but _just_ tall enough to be annoying to see over. Sure, looking right at the building could evoke that curious sense of age and wisdom unique to old repositories of knowledge - that thread of mystique a dust-edged tome pulled off a once-solid shelf or a mismatched cobblestone road stamped down by some ancient city's feet shared in common, woven into something a bit more metropolitan for the layman's benefit - _just_ strong enough to make sense of it as a stamp on a tourist's map, but little more.

 **J:** So you'd rather pay the full bill, then?

It was a museum, simple as that. Perhaps not the very _first_ image that leapt to mind, three stories tall, a little over half a city block square and riddled with patchwork brickwork lending it just a touch of Vale's presence, but the same short, wide stairs to the same double doors, the same rectangular windows below the same in square, the same ridged pillars holding up the same plain triangle. It was a museum, just barely distinct enough to make labeling it 'painfully generic' unfair, and it was called the Vale National Museum, because evidently those slightly mismatched bricks emptied the creative budget of its architects.

 **RT:** You might call it an early settlement.

It was also Akira's target.

 **J:** Now you've got me curious.

The overall objectives of the mission were simple. First, the completion of the job he was being paid for; delivering an old journal on display in the museum's Reformation Period exhibit to his client, one Roman Torchwick, in exchange for what was officially labeled as an 'acquisitions fee', albeit an unfortunately paltry one. Per the letter of the contract, the means and methods were entirely Akira's prerogative; deliver the journal, get paid. Nice and simple.

 **RT:** Oh? Curious about what, exactly?

Second, the actual deal: _steal_ the journal, making as clean and professional a job of it as possible. A demo job, to certify Akira's claims of competence; in return, that ever-unquantifiable 'exposure' among Torchwick's associates and an informal promise of further, more appropriately compensated work in the future from the man himself. Whatever 'street cred' and _actual_ work down the line he could prove himself worthy of, in exchange for _proving_ it, to put things bluntly.

 **J:** Settling favors with cash is bad form, which leaves the question of what form your settlement will take.

In order to fulfill those objectives, to the _best_ of his ability, he needed a plan. To construct a plan that would _work,_ he needed intel. And, unfortunately, there has only ever really been one way of getting intel all on one's own.

 **RT:** Now, now, there's no need to be so chilly. I just figured I'd lighten your load a bit.

Akira leaned out of his stride, sliding smoothly out of the thin crowd as he passed the outer wall. Leaning back against it, the grey-eyed teen surveyed the building a little more closely. The museum's approach was fairly simply laid out - its main gate led into a small courtyard, which let out on both sides. To the left, visitors came and went - Vale wasn't like Atlas or Mistral, most of her people didn't really _drive._ Nowhere to drive to, all told, the city was largely navigable by foot or bike. The semi-attached parking lot, which fed into the museum's backlot, wasn't exactly sophisticated but it got the job done, and it was close enough to the dockside marketplace to usually have a food vendor or two and a few other pop-up stands kicking about.

 **J:** I'm perfectly capable of doing my own work, but thank you for the offer.

The courtyard was nothing special, really. A few waist-height brick corner planters full of native flowering bushes - mostly shades of red and gold, possibly sourced from Forever Fall? Surprisingly cared-for, actually, and a much-needed bit of personality - provided natural nooks for benches in the small, rectangular plaza between the outer wall and the bottom of the approach stairs, which in turn provided four small plateaus arranged in a loose arch. Each one housed a statue and a placard explaining it - two of people, weathered stone looking to be about the same age and condition rubbed smooth enough that it was difficult to make out more than the suggestion of solid armor on one or loose robes on the other, one an assembly of geometric shapes spiraling up from the point it balanced upon, and the last apparently a large hunk of stone shot through with pearlescent ore - and peering closer at the placard, it was mined during the early days of the Mountain Glenn project. Interesting trivia, but not relevant to the job.

 **RT:** I was thinking something more along the lines of, say, some backup?

More importantly, the security cameras. Three were visible along the front of the museum - two half-hidden behind the pillars that enclosed the museum's entryway, alternating between views of the shaded portico and the courtyard outside. Simple, but effective, since there was no way someone would be able to carry off one of the sculptures on the stairs without being spotted. The third, however, was off to the right, overlooking the employees-only side entrance to the building. That left only the backlot as a possible entrance, but odds were that any doors in that direction would be just as competently watched.

Automated surveillance. How he loathed it.

 **J:** Two out of ten, decent timing but I honestly haven't the slightest what the joke was. What were you _actually_ thinking?

Akira took a moment to consider the stone bannisters of the roof, glasses flashing with reflected light as he did, running through his mental short-list of security - just to be certain that he hadn't missed anything. There _was_ a guard on the roof, visible now that he was leaning over the edge - people-watching, likely - but that wasn't really relevant, he was on too strict of a time limit to map out a full patrol schedule. Aside from that, there were no further security measures he'd learn about just standing there.

 **RT:** That it would be more trouble to stop her.

Letting out a low sigh, Akira collapsed his scroll and quietly tucked it into the messenger bag slung over his back. One ear twitched in irritation as he pushed off the wall, the satchel pressing oddly into the space under his shoulder.

 _Start from the bottom, right?_ the thief mused, eyeing the museum's doors. _...I forgot how annoying that was._

...and somehow, _that_ was what set a wild grin on his face.

Shaking his head helplessly, Akira set into an easy stride towards the entrance, already palming his wallet for the entry fee. Nothing else for it, really - the only perk of starting all over again was a clean slate.

He'd just have to work with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> played p5s
> 
> beat the secret boss
> 
> now am write


	4. Mostly Guessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan made on incomplete information is a plan just _begging_ to fall apart.

Three floors, about half a block of floor space. Write off the space for necessary facilities, and it wasn't all that much for a museum - call it a little over a floor and a half of exhibit space total. Not a lot of space to sneak through, but very little to secure - especially since there would absolutely be more cameras on the inside. Nothing Joker couldn't handle, but nothing he wanted to try and run _blind._

Akira snagged a flier as he strolled through the inner gate, ticket secure in his pocket. The attached map, very considerately, was obviously a touched-up copy of the blueprints on file; the staff-only facilities were a uniform grey, cutting out the back half of the first floor and winding through the second and third. Annoying, since doors were one of the most important elements of a successful stealth mission, but workable.

As for the exhibits...

The first floor was cut into four major parts. The entry hall, which encompassed the reception, ticket gates, and the central room, which had a few tiny exhibits - mostly just displays advertising the other exhibits, honestly - and the public stairs and elevator leading further up into the building, was where he was now and likely would want to stay out of as much as possible when on the job - the room's sparse decor gave a nice sense of openness for a museum-goer, but there was pretty much nowhere to hide from the security cameras sitting over the ticket gate and by the stairs.

There was the staff area, grayed-out on the map - most likely there was a service elevator behind the staircase, and the loading docks would take up the space behind it. Other than that, he was flying blind in there. Best to think more on it later.

Then, there were the two 'wings' of the museum, major rooms off to each side of the entry hall, visible from where he was standing. To the right, an exhibit on the local sea life - something to do with comparisons between marine animals and seagoing Grimm? That actually sounded interesting. On the other side, a partition had been thrown up between two smaller exhibits... an exhibition of religious paraphernalia on loan from - _Menagerie?_ Of all the places... and the other exhibit was more of the same, but on loan from one of the museums in Mantle. Maybe a comparison thing.

Akira very carefully did _not_ visibly bristle at the thought, as he had no proof and every reason not to draw undue attention. Instead, he slunk into the shadow cast by a display case obviously not sized to accommodate the raw, stone-clad Dust crystals that had been packed into it. A quick glance at it told him two things - first, that whoever had arranged that case likely deserved a raise, as the powerful crystals weren't just nicely laid out, they were downright _artistic,_ the half-cracked geodes suspended on wires and carefully packed to align the exposed Dust without the danger of contact. It was like stained glass art in three dimensions, forming the image of a pearlescent rainbow axe... from an uncomfortably low angle that put the weight of his bag entirely on his thigh, _ow._

Straightening up, the frizzy-haired teen quietly scanned the room - mostly through-traffic, nobody coming over to look at the pretty Dust, which was the other thing he had noticed - and slunk behind the display, eyes gleaming red with the light of a raw Fire Dust crystal as he turned them to the flier again.

On the upper floors... the second floor was pretty much the same layout, with the caveat of the space cut out for the loading docks being another, even larger exhibit hall, with the huge grey box cut down to, Akira assumed, enough space for the service elevator and a small loading zone. Same went for the space that had been the entry hall on the first floor, minus the central room; one small, two medium, and one large, put plainly.

The lack of the huge grey zone drew his eye down to the small staff-only halls winding between the thick walls of the museum. They hadn't been present on the first floor, but it looked like the freer floor space had prompted someone to suggest putting them in. If he was any judge, they existed to allow quick movement between rooms even if the museum was packed to the gills - not a bad idea at all, seeing as the second and third floors were where the major exhibits looked to be. He'd have to look into it later.

Turning the page one more time, it seemed the pattern repeated on the third floor, almost one-for-one. Of note, however, was the slightly expanded, oddly-shaped grey zone he had assumed to be the service elevator - likely roof access, cutting into one of the staff walkways. That in mind, the security room controlling the cameras was likely on the first floor, since there were no other suspicious grey zones on the map.

Exhibits, exhibits... there. His target was on the third floor, in the small room. A collection of old texts from a long-forgotten era of Vale, before the walls had even begun taking form - about a century of mortal peril, reduced to what scraps had survived the constant onslaught of Grimm. Old history, from more than a few years before the Kingdom's 'Safe Point', was incredibly rare. Ironically, it was also one of the few high-value trades that was basically nonexistent on the black market - basically only the Kingdoms themselves and a few extremely wealthy weirdos would buy that sort of thing, and most of those weirdos were in deep with the Huntsmen or the Kingdoms. Ozpin, Beacon Academy's illustrious Headmaster, was a good example, having actually donated some of the material on display. He'd have to have a look in person to figure out more, which fell in nicely with the purpose of his visit.

The rest of the flier was the standard-issue map-and-guide affair; brief blurbs for most of the exhibits, larger advertisements of the big attractions, Scroll contact information for both an emergency and general purpose line, and some fluff about the museum's own history, values, that sort of thing. Nothing eye-catching, but the map would come in handy if he got turned around somehow. More to the point, a physical map could be handy, especially one that was largely a blank canvas.

Absently folding the flier, Akira slipped it into his pocket as he scanned the room again. It seemed like a slow enough day that he would be able to move about the museum with impunity... it itself wasn't much of note, but hey, you could put on a play with a plywood stage. And he wasn't exactly pressed for time.

He'd paid for the ticket. Might as well get the most out of it.

* * *

Aquatic Grimm were one of the most-feared categories. Aside from the prohibitively expensive Atlesian airships, a very new technology, there really was no way to get around the larger world but by ship, and no one had yet figured out how to build walls in the actual ocean - encounters, even on well-secured shipping routes, were sadly inevitable. Even with dedicated Huntsmen and modern weapons aboard, about one in every ten voyages were lost at sea, with only one in ten again seeing survivors returning to shore. Those rare sailors who made it back from disaster spun tales of creatures from the depths, rolling tentacles and gluttonous maws and the elements running wild at their command; it was thought that, aside from the smaller common subspecies that were always being driven out of Vale's canals and the few known monsters that plagued shipping routes, there were tens or even dozens of undocumented marine Grimm running wild through the world's oceans, simply too powerful to have left survivors on those ships ill-fated enough to run across them.

Still, that didn't prevent some intrepid souls from dedicating their lives to the study of the seas; 'Monsters in the Depths' proclaimed the exhibit's banner, with a series of colorful information boards on the wall acknowledging the team responsible for the exhibit - the Argus Marine Initiative's Wildlife Analysis Team, who as far as Akira could decipher from the mess of marine-biology jargon, layman-friendly oversimplifications, and press-release understatements that made up the text on those boards - admittedly aided by the colorful cartoons accompanying them - had spent the past three years fishing for Grimm and then taking as many measurements as they could while battling said Grimm to the death.

...well, there was certainly something to be said for dedication to one's craft. And despite their obvious total insanity, the good men and women of the WAT had gotten quite a bit of interesting information out of it; according to one of the boards, the exhibit had been planned after a member of the team, one J. Joestar, had submitted a doctoral dissertation based on the physiological similarities between a newly-discovered species of marine Grimm and a number of different species of cetacean.

That had spurred other comparisons with other, non-evil-monster animals. Not every Grimm had shown those types of common features, but while the exhibit itself was largely down to the more innocuous photographs, drawings, and measurements of Grimm contrasted against various models of other sea life - probably to avoid scaring children - a frankly shocking number of matches had been found. The results of the study, claimed one board, lent a lot of credence to the theory that Grimm were in fact wild animals mutated into their current form by an unknown, but natural mechanism similar to Dust formation - a fringe theory, considering the obvious differences like 'animals don't dissolve into shadows when they die'.

It was still a fringe theory, because studying Grimm was both life-threatening and notoriously frustrating considering that they tended to die almost immediately in captivity, and every theory about where Grimm came from was fringe. But it was a slightly more credible fringe theory, which was apparently enough to rock the scientific world.

To Akira, though, it was fairly obvious that whoever had organized the exhibit felt the absence of a center-piece keenly. The sketches and documents, both scientific and copied from old sailors' tales, the small models of marine life to go with them, and a lot of colorful, cartoony boards explaining the context and significance of the study... all of it was interesting, but all of it was details. And since some of the most interesting details had clearly been cut out, probably judged too frightening or narrow-field for the public...

All in all, it was a bit... toothless.

_(And isn't that just a kick in the teeth?)_

* * *

The religious exhibit was... something to peek into on the way out, Akira had decided. The side rooms wouldn't be useful when heist time rolled around anyways, and if it was laid out the same as the marine Grimm exhibit, dodging the cameras would be more trouble than it was worth.

Instead, he climbed the stairs to the next level, and the next display that had caught his eye - the second-floor main exhibit, which was, of all things, _jewelry._ No self-respecting thief could pass that up, after all.

Not exactly crowded, the room was noticeably more populated than either of the other two, at least. The exhibit purported to be about a study of metallurgy throughout Vale's history and culture, and was laid out fairly intuitively - from left to right, old to new. Some of the more valuable pieces warranted their own little pedestals, ensconced in protective glass boxes, while others were simply laid out on display tables behind rope or hung up from the walls.

The huge 'Do Not Touch The Display Items' signs scattered around were, in Akira's professional opinion, amusing.

Adjusting the strap of his bag again with a wince, as it had begun to dig under his shoulderblade, he gave the biggest display case - roped off all on its own in the center of the room - a considering look. It glittered invitingly, catching the light flowing around it into its own brilliance even at the odd angle of the hall's far corner, the young thief's own eyes gleaming in solely its reflected luster; he could practically feel the smooth, cool finish of its sapphire-tinted steel on his fingertips, the tingling rose-gold potential coursing through it, its weight pressing familiar leather softly into his palms-

It almost broke his heart just to turn away from the poor thing, to let it sit in a case, gathering dust.

The other jewelry on display soothed him a bit, at least, struggling as he was to keep his eyes away from the central display. It was genuinely fascinating how the simple silvers of early steel broken only by one or two set gems gave way to more experimental pieces. A simple, delicate chain necklace where each chain was made of differently-measured variants on the same alloy, showing off how it transitioned from a subtly red-tinted silver to a deep, shining bronze, was accompanied by a plaque explaining how early blacksmiths had tested methods to purify and mix molten metals, and beside it was a bangle built of two layers of argent metal, each arcing out from a clear crystal that joined them. That one was apparently an early attempt to harness Dust, trying to use multiple metals of different properties to protect the wielder without lessening the power of the mysterious mineral.

"Oh, I know that expression. Never thought trinkets like these could be so deadly, huh?"

Akira blinked, then pulled his gaze away from the next item up to the person standing beside him. A fellow tourist, judging by the casual outfit, one eyebrow cocked above the rim of her sunglasses in apparent amusement - probably just a bit older than he himself was, actually.

"Anything can be deadly if it's thrown hard enough." he replied, voice curious, raising an inquisitive eyebrow right back. "Though I find myself doubting that blowing up one's own hand is very intimidating."

She snickered, short but amused, then looked back down at the next piece - a ring, wavy bands joined by an empty, protruding setting. There was a small hole in the center of the setting - at a certain angle, it was just possible to see tiny gears inside of it. "Then you aren't thinking hard enough. Tricks like micro-molding and the minimum ignition system that these were made to test? They're key elements in modern weaponry." the older teen told him, leaning in for a better look at the jewelry. "These old pieces didn't work, but you could totally throw a fireball with a ring and a Dust crystal nowadays thanks to the skills smiths learned making them."

"Or you could just get a gun." Akira suggested. "Not that this isn't enlightening, but do we know each other?"

"Nope. Just thought I'd share my wisdom with the world." she replied, a smirk on her face. "Or at least my fellow Huntsman-in-training."

He blinked. Then offered a bland smile. "Then I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea, Miss...?"

"Adel." she told him. Taking a step back, the older teen visibly sized him up; "You _sure_ about that? Not just trying to get out of trouble?"

"No Huntmen affiliation whatsoever, I assure you."

The apparent Beacon student made a considering noise, before slowly nodding. "Sorry about that, then. Thought I had stumbled on one of my new underclassmen, late to Initiation." she explained, offering a moderately apologetic shrug. "You learn to trust your instincts in this line of work, you know?"

A bit of tension easing out of his shoulders, Akira nodded. "So I've heard." he replied easily. "I've been told I have 'that sort of air' around me, in the past." he offered in turn.

"There's a certain vibe, yeah." she agreed. "Well, now we've danced around it enough that this just feels awkward, I'm gonna go. Important Huntswoman business to attend to and all that jazz. Later - didn't actually get your name, did I?"

"Kurusu." he informed her, a small grin creeping onto his face. "Didn't get your first name either, come to think of it."

"Laugh it up, kiddo. It's-" and then something like confidence and mischief gleamed from behind dark sunglasses, and she smirked. "Actually, you know what? You should keep an eye on the news. The Vytal Festival's this year, you know?"

"I'll be rooting for 'Adel', then." Akira replied, as the brunette turned and headed for the door. "Good luck!"

"Don't need it!" she tossed back over her shoulder, and then she was gone, leaving the younger teen to bury a mischievous smile in his palm, chuckling softly to himself.

"I am going to get myself _killed_ one of these days." Joker murmured, snickering, and then winced as his bag dug into the small of his back again. "...hopefully _after_ I replace this damn thing..."


	5. Fact and Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'No such thing as too much intel' is one of those phrases that sounds _really_ good and falls apart immediately in practice.

It was with no small degree of irritation that Akira made his way up to the third floor, breezing by the remaining exhibits. There were only two more that would provide any more relevant information, and if there were Huntsmen sniffing around...

Really, that irritation was directed inwards. Knowing that the _Beacon Academy Headmaster_ had donated part of the target exhibit, he really should have expected some of the older students to be sniffing around - Initiation only kept the newcomers in, after all. The upperclassmen usually stayed on-campus during, but there was no reason to expect that none of them would be defying the norms.

Akira rolled his shoulder, grimacing slightly as the empty noise underneath it spread, before letting out a faint sigh as the relieved pressure dulled that nuisance. It wasn't even that his bag was too heavy - he had carried heavier, much heavier, and in much more awkward ways - but the _distribution_ of that weight was just completely wrong in every possible way.

The strap, for starters. It was slightly too short for the bag to hang loosely at his waist, the thin fabric layer over it somehow not catching at all on his jacket, so that it would slip off his shoulder in moments unless it found a dip in structure, which the solid frame material would promptly dig into relentlessly. And on top of that, it was built to hide the messy 'loose ends' that in more sensible designs would be left free for adjustment - cutting it open would destroy the strap entirely, as well. Which made absolutely no sense, considering the bag was too long to comfortably tuck under his arm, which would at least let him shift the weight against his side as he chose instead of relying on the accessory's natural and _entirely wrong_ balance.

Two normal methods of carry removed, leaving three. And, no matter how he packed the bag, all three were uncomfortable - a feat that struck him as not just _impressively_ terrible design, but _too_ terrible to be malicious. Whatever malaise of luck and circumstance had conspired to the bag's awful perfection, it could not possibly be the work of man; from the zipper that dug viciously into his back if he dared try and pull it flush, to the 'waterproofing' that amounted to a thin, entirely irregular layer of sponge heavily weighted towards one end that would soak everything inside if it swung a little too loose, to the structuring caps hidden inside each of the long ends of the bag, ridged and pitted by some mad artifice of physics such that any contact whatsoever would result in them catching and pressing and _digging_ like Tolkien's dwarves drunk on Arken-luster, pushing every ounce of weight carried _directly_ into vulnerable flesh-

Akira had a creeping suspicion that the bag was both sentient and malicious entirely of its own accord. Surely, _surely,_ no one could possibly create something that looked perfectly normal and functional, _was_ in fact perfectly functional, but when worn was somehow less comfortable than strapping a live, _murderously_ angry cat to one's back?

He feared the truth.

But he had also satisfied himself that there were no Huntsmen about to wander into the exhibit with him, and so could turn his thoughts away from the monstrosity burrowing into his spine; dwelling on its unpleasantness was certainly _effective,_ as an anchor from which he could in the aura of his Active Aura and hide from those who could sense that sort of thing - say, just as an example, _Huntsmen_ \- but it was also, to put things entirely bluntly, _unpleasant._

The historical exhibit he had come to steal from contained more of the same he had witnessed on the previous floors - one camera, placed centrally so as to view the whole room albeit not all at once, and the pressure-triggered alarms he had seen in the jewelry display on the second floor, still obviously telegraphed by the small pedestals more valuable items had been placed on.

The exhibit was, granted, moderately interesting. The Reformation Period was considered to be the first great push of civilization against the Grimm, the time when the great cities were first established and the Kingdoms came to be; it was a time of myth and legend, largely still unknown; the Creatures of Grimm didn't normally target books and such, but their assaults were destructive enough that very little in the way of records survived.

The exhibit, thus, mainly contained artifacts and speculation. A plank, reconstructed from shards of petrified wood - hastily-cut, likely for a temporary shelter of some sort, petrified after being buried under a clearly-artificial wave of mud, which some claimed to be evidence of early Semblances. An ancient pair of stone half-spheres, the ancient crimson Dust inside it carefully contained in a more modern hard-plastic container on the same display - an early grenade, and peculiarities in the Dust scientists were still arguing over as either a natural reaction to its conditions - much in the same way as fossilization - or evidence of now-lost Dust varieties. A dagger carved from obsidian, unremarkable on the surface but contoured oddly, and beside it a carefully-taken fingerprint; someone had pressed their thumb onto the flat of the weapon hard enough to imprint. Aura-work, almost certainly.

Little trinkets like that, fascinating in their own right but not enough to tell anything for certain. And besides those, his target - not even pride-of-place in the room's center, that was taken up by some sort of _very_ early prototype musket that was barely more than oddly shaped wood and a bit of steel, and the most complete text in the room was only slightly off from that exhibit, a damaged, crudely-bound tome that the plaque proclaimed to hold legible versions of a few common nursery rhymes. But Akira's target?

He found it quickly enough - a corner-table, displaying some more texts, just off from a window that cast sunlight _straight_ into his eyes as he passed it, leaving him blinking, aching for a moment before he could turn his gaze away from it. Scraps of old letters, a ledger of trade involving Dust and steel, and between that and the slate bearing some carving made in seconds with the aid of a knife, just one space off from the darkest and least interesting corner of the room, was a neat little booklet bound in blue.

The table's attached sign explained that the texts on it were examples of an early language, now lost - rare enough that only a few key words were even guessed at. Whatever the language was, it had been lost in the dark ages before Reformation, which some claimed to be proof of an earlier, advanced civilization that had been destroyed by the Creatures of Grimm. The sign went on to identify which of the items were on loan from Beacon, and a little of how each had been identified by modern science.

What the sign did _not_ say was what the little booklet was.

Fortunately, Akira already knew full well that it was bait, and he had no intention of letting that stop him.

Having located his target, he backtracked through the left side hall - an exhibit on the history of Vale's port, only notable for confirming a suspicion related to the cameras - wandered briefly through the third floor main exhibit - an art gallery, supposedly a study of expressionism as applied to landscapes but he really wasn't paying much attention to the specifics - and then headed back for the stairs, bag bouncing painfully at his back. He had his target, and a measure of the route - impatience and irritation might be coloring his judgement, from a few different hues even, but getting _noticed_ by another Huntsman would be far more trouble than whatever last few shreds of intel he could squeeze out of another exhibit or two could be worth.

And trying to infiltrate the staff-only areas while there were Huntsmen about? Tempting fate was one thing - begging for disaster was another. Ironically, it would likely be safer to learn his way during the actual infiltration. Being caught on camera in a staff-only area would ruin everything even if he wasn't obviously there to steal from them.

The entire thing was giving him a headache, really. Still not at the top of his game and working solo to boot, the job - he had already been careless enough. He had already been _more_ than careless enough, and he had pushed-

-Akira almost tripped over the bottom step, his bag driving the spare breath from him as it knocked into his back. Eyes flickering in every direction and then abruptly refocusing as he brought his near-lost balance back under control, the teen thief smoothly turned his step right. It was almost pure instinct to keep himself in that indecisive space between focus and peripheral, even as his headache worsened keeping eldritch light from his eyes.

Running headfirst into _Glynda Goddamn Goodwitch_ because he was too caught up in his petty woes to pay attention wouldn't have been _game over,_ necessarily, but it would certainly have been embarrassing.

From there, it was through the ticket gate, out the main door, through the courtyard to the side and into the parking lot. Between the cars, eyes and feet picking out a neat little evasion pattern while he dug his thumbs into his temple and tried to control his worsening headache, and then out of the lot, around a corner just a little further down the walk into a side-street, just a _little_ bit _further_ and _turn-_

His messenger bag hit the ground just past the corner with a sharp _clack_ at the worst possible pitch for his poor head that gave way to a sad, annoying, drawn-out _whumpf_. Joker, nursing both a splitting headache and a shoulder that was either asleep or permanently crippled - hard to tell, honestly - gave five paces past it into the dead-end alleyway before he turned around.

"Ten," he told the pout suspended in midair above the damn thing, "might be traditional but five is three more than either of us need and you know it." Then he let out a short, sharp sigh, slumping against cool brick; he really _had_ pushed it, but that was no excuse to be rude-

Eyes faded in to match - one bubblegum-pink, one chocolate-brown, lit with a particularly wicked style of mischief.

A black ear twitched.

"Cheshire, then." Akira muttered, unearthly light catching briefly in his own greys as he cast them down to the old stone that paved the alley. And then, because he wasn't _ungrateful,_ "Thanks for that heads-up, earlier."

The illusion shattered. The girl - woman - _imp,_ most likely, behind it nodded with faux-grace, wearing a conniving grin the same angle as one of the black-bead strings around her neck. Then she produced a Scroll from within her white-and-pink waistcoat, quickly typing something out on it - remarkably quickly, really.

There was a mild buzz from the bag she was sitting in.

"How did you get my Scroll number?" Akira asked mildly, not actually expecting an answer. That Cheshire tossed it in his general direction was surprisingly considerate, really; he pulled it out of the air with easy grace, not even having to try and guess his way through an illusion.

 **N:** Call it even for the lift.

Mute. Interesting. He'd think about the implications when he wasn't already trying to work through a headache, sliding down a back-alley brick wall into a messy sprawl on the cobblestone.

His Scroll buzzed again.

 **N:** Not exactly inspiring a lot of confidence here, buddy.

He let out a laugh, short and breathless, staring up into the sliver of sky still visible from between the narrow backstreet's walls. Grey gleamed again, vision sharpening into something a little more than human, and there - just visible as the day grew late was the very first fragment of the world's shattered Moon.

"I'm a dramatic son of a bitch." Akira insouciantly informed his fellow criminal, flopping those last few inches onto the loose-laid paving-stone for all the world like it was a five-star feather bed. "But relax - I'll get it done."

Then he closed his eyes and drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker's got a bit of a past, a bit more of a headache, and a lot of work to do. But hey, what else is new?


	6. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension and calm are more interchangeable than you'd think, really.

Nighttime. The moon's fracture was on full display tonight - had to be, for its fragments to have been visible with the sky still blue, but that was beside the point. Latch alarms on the windows, external cameras watching the entrance, and of course, the front of the building was lit up enough to make climbing it obvious from the street. To infiltrate, the obvious routes would be to scale the building wall from the rear, using the rooftops in that direction as stepping-stones, or to go in through the loading bay, also to the rear.

Or, if you were very confident in your timing, you could hop the exterior wall from the side and make a dash for the door, using the front-cameras' pattern to slip in while they were both pointed the other way.

Which was why Joker was clinging to the rear wall, a black patch in the shadows just under the rooftop studying the loading dock below. He had already slipped the grapple-hook that had drawn him up to his current position down a sleeve, and the buttons of his vest were carefully arranged between himself and the stone he was hanging loose from - not a glint of steel to give him away, so he could take his time and consider the options.

Prying open a window without setting the attached alarm off was possible, but even knowing the positions of the cameras, he could not risk being spotted by a night guard. Clambering up to the bare rooftop and picking the lock on the small stone hut that was its only feature was another possibility, but again risked blindly stumbling into a guard. Neither, of course, held a candle to the likelihood of someone being stationed in the building's reception area - the front door was appealingly temerarious, but he was a professional and would not blow his fragile civilian cover for a gesture so paltry in its pointlessness.

Which left the dock.

It was a simple affair - a gated service entrance behind the attached parking, down a thin access path with a toll-barrier blocking the walled exterior lot, controlled by a security hutch placed just off to the side. From there, staff parking took up a strip close to the wall, while service vehicles angled closer to the building; there were two single-vehicle garage doors raised about a meter off the ground, the small truck linked up flush to one succinctly explaining their purpose, a steel door with an obvious keycard reader, and at the other end of the lot there was an extension of the first floor neatly fitted to the corner - another guard post, this one to watch the lot instead of just the access road. Between the guard post and the single-vehicle doors, the building was dominated by a third, massively wider garage door.

Currently, security amounted to a smattering of cameras - two of them on light-posts in the center of the lot, a further three attached to the building above the staff door, by the security office, and an overview camera mounted only maybe half a meter below his current position, just for good measure - and two guards, one for each post. The one in the access hutch looked halfway asleep, a massive steaming thermos sitting on his tiny desk, while the lot guard was clearly playing some sort of game on his Scroll. Judging by the large text occasionally flashing onto the screen, it was an arcade-style game - he was glancing up most every time he cleared a round, albeit only briefly.

It was an effective setup, almost infuriatingly easy to bypass with a hacker's support or assurance that no one was watching the security feeds in the moment. He would only have to disable two cameras to get a free shot at the card-locked door, and even from here he could see that taking it off its hinges would be the work of a few moments with one of the hooks up his sleeve - a third camera would get him time to do it properly, even, working the hinges loose with the miniature prybar in his coat pocket. If he wasn't going for minimal notice, he could even just drop down to the corner behind the lot watch, pop the window off its frame and knock out the guard before he could raise the alarm, giving access not just to the probably-surveilled warehouse floor but a staff-only corridor much less likely to be actively watched. It would be _easy._

Hell, if he was going for a smash and grab he could just smash the window he was _right next to,_ snatch the journal, and disappear into the night. Keeping a good image out of the camera logs would be a cakewalk. Or just punch a hole through the wall with one of his hooks - they were heavy and durable enough for that and would allow him to bypass _literally everything._

...tempting. _Very_ tempting. But it would be a poor showcase for the imp lurking somewhere about, camouflaged even to his eyes, and poorer practice for more secure targets in the future.

Even aside from that, such a brutish approach to his first heist would leave the wrong impression. Useful, maybe, but he wasn't just some common criminal.

Akira Kurusu was a _Phantom Thief-_

-the opportunity presented itself, and a black shadow dove sharp and quick, inertia and gravity losing their grip for a moment as it curveted from unflinching stone to tarmac without even a whisper of impact's protest. A glint of cold argent made itself briefly known as the fluid black rolled through, so swift and uncertain a glimpse that even the sharpest eyes would think it no more than a mirage, and proved itself reality as it slid into a tumbler with easy elegance. Hesitation, mercurial - a stilling of movement so ephemeral in space that time seemed to simply blink it away, a mote of dust in the world's eye - and the lock opened readily, just enough of its attached door going with it to let the delinquent silhouette seep through the crack; it closed again, locked again, and only the briefest glimmer of carmine on a handle in the moonlight was left to show before all was once more right with the world-

-and a Phantom Thief made the impossible _stylish._

True, the inspection window that connected the service van's cab and boot wasn't made to be wriggled through, much less done so in the fraction of a second between camera angles and bored guards, but there was even _less_ of a space between the box truck's outside and the wall. His left shoulder ached bitterly from nearly dislocating it to get through, and he had come dangerously close to breaking the thieves' tools he had hidden in his coat, but success was success.

The truck's trunk and the service door were both open, which might require some quick thinking at really any moment. The warehouse was mildly cramped in the way only truly valuable things could be - racks and racks of files and small-storage boxes made up about half of it, the half further in to be precise, while pieces of old and upcoming displays were scattered about the closer half haphazardly, hidden under tarps and illegible note-cards. No cameras seemed in evidence, but the piles of sightline-breaking _stuff_ could very easily get him caught out if he simply went wandering about.

More intriguingly, there was no _guard_ presence evident; the musty, mixed-up scent of history and art had settled, a thick base of aged papers and varnished wood sunk under a thin film of protectively-treated plastics, seasoned lightly with traces of paint fumes, and the buzzing of the city outside and whirling of the fan never gave way to the distinctive tap of foot on floor or the subtle irregularities of stray breaths. The warehouse, at least, was void of human presence and had been for... six hours or more, if he was any judge.

Creeping out into the room - ah, there was a camera. Not in the same place, relatively, as the cameras in the large exhibit halls higher up; unfortunate, but not insurmountable - Joker ran through his mental map of the building again, updating his estimates of the staff corridors to match what he was seeing of the warehouse... which admittedly wasn't much - even his eyes couldn't see through walls, mostly - another camera, but it was pointed away - Joker wasn't going to be able to confidently rule out a camera seeing him if he dashed through that open area, so the long way around it was-

-not that he hadn't already been missing his navigator, but having to try and navigate _himself_ really did provide ample opportunity to appreciate how _useful_ a good navigator could be. It wasn't even _hard_ to wind his way through and around the cameras, picking them out with brief glimmers of silver or smudges of motion or even just the weak grinding of gears turning them from side to side practically lighting them up in hot pink neon and just a few moments' observation to tell their angles and suss out their purview, they were fairly clearly scattered without consideration for the changing arrangement of items in storage and thus were largely blind to all but the obvious anyways.

But it was _tedious._ Painfully so, and even the brief flashes he had limited himself to thus far were proving detrimental to the ache rising from the back of his skull.

A navigator was more than a map; more than the certainty of all-sight and memories cast in something more solid than the mind.

But _damn,_ would he have appreciated that specific flavor of aid right now.

Sinking into his own thoughts wouldn't be helpful at the moment, though, so he clamped down on the urge to complain that was distracting him, indulged it with an under-breath curse as he realized it had muddied his certainty of position and timing, forced it back into the box to the side of his mind wrapped in chains, and kicked the box down into its hole, where it would hopefully remain for more than five accursed minutes this time.

Then he got back to work.

Another brief flash of moonlight gave him certainty, and he sprung from one last hiding spot into the slim cover of the warehouse's side wall, directly underneath a camera. The door he had been creeping towards was close - _very_ close - and while it _was_ within two cameras' range, he had just enough time to slip over and test its handle safely - and then quickly get through, taking him from the warehouse floor to the staff corridor. It would be extremely dangerous to return to the warehouse, as the only doors he had spotted were that one and another in the shelving area that wasn't monitored _itself_ but only fed out through the shelves to an area of very low cover and many, many camera-sights.

Fortunately, while he did have to remove himself from the viewport at about head height in the warehouse door, there were no cameras - or staff - in the corridor. The lot guard post was accessible through another door down the way, albeit one with a keycard reader on the inside that would absolutely need one from the outside, and aside from that reader the hall was largely unremarkable - a quiet, dark tunnel painted the dullest possible shade of off-white, void of anything but the faint buzz of Akira's own tension, or possibly the dim fluorescent lighting in one of the off rooms - it could be difficult to tell those apart sometimes.

In his immediate area, Joker counted three additional doors and a corner ahead. Two of those doors were clearly marked as bathrooms, which could be useful for a quick hiding place, and could also be haunted judging by the cobwebs, scratches and peeling paint marking those walls and general aura of fear and despair they emitted. With those marked as a near-last resort option, there was also a door labeled by a small nameplate next to it as 'BRK'; breakroom, and there was a thin wash of dim and _aggressively_ artificial light edging around the door on all sides so it was likely either occupied or kept lit to prevent the spreading of that ghost infestation, an eminently reasonable measure. It was also the absolute _last_ place any thief more subtle than a stick of lit dynamite thrown into a Fire Dust mine should go, and so he wrote it off as an after-last resort option.

With that settled, he crept up to the corner, keeping a keen ear out for activity; he _could_ hear motion now, even the distinctive rhythm of someone actually speaking, but the apparently-soundproofed warehouse hadn't been blocking much. Whoever was talking was a minimum of one floor up, probably two given how soft and indistinct the voice was - in either the staff areas or the large exhibit halls, though that was really more a wild guess than anything. He had already lost the sound of motion, hidden behind that oddly loud light-buzz from the break room, but whoever it was was _definitely_ not in the corridor and thus could be safely ignored for the moment.

The corner split both ways - a T shape. To the left, there was... a camera, good, the sudden lack coming out of the warehouse had been somewhat unsettling and he didn't like the feeling of not knowing if someone was watching weighing on his entirely balanced thievery-honed paranoia. It wasn't very well-placed for the length of the corridor, being one of the very few static cameras in the building and resolutely pointing left, but having a camera constantly pointing at what looked like side access to the staff-only area from within was sensible. Aside from that, the corridor continued to be mostly empty to the right, with a small selection of doors - six of them - granting access to, at a guess, the main hall for the furthest and closest ones visible, the warehouse for the runners-up to those, and two doors that were a bit more suspicious. After that, the hall cornered again to the right - most likely that was where the building's office space was tucked away, along with more warehouse access and perhaps a staff-only staircase. Nothing of interest there, and no sounds of motion; the manager and whatever pencil-pushers worked in the actual building itself were likely gone for the night.

A double-check for hidden cameras, and Joker strode calmly (albeit quietly) up the hall to investigate further, letting a small smile onto his face. More signage told him he had hit just about the jackpot; 'SCR' and 'ELV' in those same cheap nameplates.

The service elevator's door was set off from the center of the hall, likely making room for the actual machine; ideally it would be in a small, unmonitored, self-contained room just separate from the warehouse floor, but there _was_ the risk that this door opened directly into the warehouse. It lacked a viewport, being another of the simple wooden doors that separated the staff and public areas - and the break-room, actually, which meant that the steel doors with viewports could be a warehouse feature specifically. Still, chancing it was risking his clean streak.

 _...unless_ he broke into the security room, set opposite the service elevator door in the very center of the hall - under the main public staircase, interesting - and disabled the automated security. He'd have to smash the console for good measure, not being technically versed enough to prevent someone from turning it back _on_ at an inopportune moment, but without infallible automated records being made at every corner snatching his target and getting out cleanly would only be complicated by entirely fallible human guards, who might not even realize he had turned their security off until it was too late.

The security room was an even bigger risk, though - it would _absolutely_ have internal cameras, which he couldn't get an idea of through the moderately heavy steel door, and the loud buzz of electronic equipment inside it mixing with the faint but persistent tone of the break room's lights was interfering with his attempt to listen for a person actually inside. In essence, he would be walking into a complete blind spot.

Which wasn't impossible to deal with. Despite the lack of hood or mask, and the weight of the tools inside his coat, he would remain largely a dark, formless blur to all but the highest-quality cameras if he entered at speed. If he kept his head down and quickly destroyed whatever surveillance was inside, he would remain off-camera. The human element... _was_ impossible to predict; without the faintest scrap of information there could be anything from a single sleeping guard to an entire Atlesian special-forces strike team with guns trained.

It all came down to a gamble and his willingness to make it, then; staking his anonymity and the chaos of an alert going up against the removal of the building's automated security and all that that entailed.

The wheel of fortune... well, Akira wasn't much of one for a pure gamble - lottery, a slot, a roll of the dice, those weren't his style. He could be a lucky little devil when it didn't matter much, but Lady Luck's favor had always turned too easily to Fate's designs, every stroke of her brush or thread of her weave loaded to breaking with her signature sadistic glee.

No, he wasn't much of one for a pure gamble-

Joker finished working the lock, eyes abruptly flaring brilliant silver as he withdrew the pick. The door opened full without a single complaint, admitting his entry as a whisper of violence; the hooks would be too heavy, too loud, but cameras were _fragile._ Two lit up bright, and two arrows found their marks - his lock-picks weren't sharp, but they were well-balanced and just heavy enough to crush glass and delicate machinery with just a little bit of Aura, and not even make too much noise while they were at it. Eyes still shining bright, the thief whirled into a loose combat stance, again scanning the room; there _had_ to be someone here, another camera, something he was _missing..._

-though he was fond of making his own luck, which _this did not feel like._ He still felt on edge, _watched_ even, as he hurriedly retrieved his slightly-bent lockpicks from the camera lens they had been thrown through; had he managed to get into the security room while the guard was on break? It _was_ mixed luck, a knocked-out guard was more predictable than one who was temporarily absent and he'd already been planning to smash the security console after taking it offline - but that didn't settle his nerves, didn't settle the voice in the back of his head that had finally decided that this was one lucky break _far_ too many for a single infiltration.

Eyes swiftly softened to their common slate, ears flattened against scalp, Joker hurried to the console; the buzz was in his ears now, mixing with the persistent protests of his nerves and the rushing of warming blood - he forced down the growing paranoia as his fingers scrambled across the keyboard, searching for - linked systems - individual controls, couldn't waste time with that - remote access - no no no no _no_ \- **_power!_**

The room plunge into shadow in a moment, screens flickering out as their cameras went dark, leaving Joker with only the faint light of the console and the buzzing in his ears.

...correction.

The _revving_ in his ears.

"Hey there, new kid." a familiar voice called from just behind, sweet as sugar and straight caffeine. "Fancy seeing you here again!"

Akira slumped slightly, forehead almost to console screen. He wasn't really sure how he felt; a bittersweet strain of relief, some minor reflexive embarrassment, all the expected things were there, but he really just could _not_ figure out why his paranoia was still screaming in his ear.

"What serendipity, Adel." he replied easily, finding to his surprise more friendly challenge in his tone than anything. "I _was_ hoping for a challenge."


End file.
